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Wednesday, November 29, 2017

I
read one of those social forums a while back that turned into a massive
time-sink. The header was something like 'where's the most dangerous place
you've ever had sex?' Total click-bait, but I ended up taking a long look; me and
about a million other voyeurs. The thread started out pretty tame, but after
awhile it turned really salacious. By the time I reached the end of the list of
illicit intimate moments, I was tempted to add my own ‘most dangerous’ to the
mix but I just couldn’t get my fingers to cooperate. They hovered over the keyboard and just kind
of trembled.

I
hesitated; among the churches, factories, even a missile silo– my bedroom felt
more than a little anti-climactic. What I wanted to share though wasn't as overt
as all the close calls with security cameras, pontiffs, and friction burns. I felt
like I topped them all just by checking into a hotel room.

Total
side note here: the ‘good-guy’ detectives in the TV shows are always insanely beautiful
or ruggedly handsome. Too often they
have a streak of brilliance coupled with a healthy disregard for the rules. They
work within the system and take minor clues to solve major cases. I think that's why I've always been so drawn
to them. They walk that razor-thin line between right and wrong. In my mind, they're
almost as bad as the criminals they're trying to capture – flawed in the best
possible ways. It doesn’t hurt that they look great in a tight pair of pants.

Detective
Fields put that stereotype in its grave the moment I met him. He looked more
like Columbo than Booth, and he drank his coffee from a blank ceramic mug
instead of a personalized travel cup-- hell, even a Styrofoam cup would give
him the impression of a man constantly on the move. Instead, he looked worn
thin, impatient, and lazy.

It
was mid-morning on what could have been the worst downpour in commute history when
I met him in the lobby of the twenty-sixth precinct. I shut off my phone while
I followed him through the maze of corridors to an interview room somewhere up on
the third floor. Each step was a literal pain in the ass, and I kept wondering
why he asked me to meet him in the first place.

The
chairs in the interview room were hard plastic, connected to the floor on these
slider rails so they could move back and forth from the table but also anchored
so you couldn't go all Terminator and start throwing things around. The table
matched the walls and our reflections made us look like ghosts against the giant
mirror they must have lifted straight out of every noir movie ever made. The
light was on, so I could tell the observation room was empty. Not sure why that disappointed me.

"Mrs.
Peterson?" His voice jarred me out of my daze. He sounded tired and looked
worse. I tried to imagine him coming down off a late shift, overworked and
underappreciated while he tracked some cold case serial killer, but it just didn’t
take. The only thing it looked like he was tracking were frequent-diner points.

I
cleared my throat and I shifted in the chair. The cheeks of my ass were still in
recovery mode. "I'm sorry, what was the question?"

He
sighed heavily. "I just asked if you wanted a cup of water."

I
glanced at the generic mug and shivered internally. "No, I think I'll be
fine."

"Suit
yourself," he sat down across from me and flipped open a folder with my
last name printed on a sticker label. It
was layered over the top of a few other names I couldn't make out. "You've
been married fifteen years?"

I
cleared my throat again. "Sixteen. Our anniversary was two days ago."
I felt a stab of pain shoot up my arm and I smiled a little. It wasn’t a
massive jolt of agony or anything, just a little reminder of being down on my
knees in the coat closet, my wrists tied to the wooden rod. I was right next to
my overcoat.

"These
are pictures of you, aren't they?" he turned the folder around, and I saw
a dozen crystal-clear photographs of my naked body. My skin was cane-reddened
by a quarter-inch rod. Rosewood. My breasts had been tied with hemp-seed rope,
and those indentations were visible for almost an hour after I was cut loose. Cut
loose, not untied, mind you. The knots
were so constricted after I was suspended they weren’t ever coming undone
again. I remembered posing for those pictures,
but just barely. I was so high on endorphins that night I don't think I would
have noticed if my body caught fire.

Instead
of ‘what the actual fuck?!’ I decided on "where did you get these?" I
sounded hoarse, and I even started to reconsider that drink of water. My phone
suddenly felt like a brick in my purse, too. I wanted to snatch it up look to
see if my husband had tried to call or text. He had to be close to the end of
his shift.

I
felt like the room was filling with water and I couldn't breathe. I kept trying
to blink the stupid out of my eyes, "wait, Jackson's here?"

"Try
to relax, Mrs Peterson. Like I said, you're safe--"

"Safe
from what? What the hell did you do with my husband?"

It
was his turn to blink. "A uniformed officer brought him in last night
after his skid was found disabled on the shoulder off I-16. There were a few
suspicious comments made, so the patrolman called in a bot. There were domestic
violence triggers in his subconscious that he was trying to suppress. When the
officer confronted him about it, he handed over his mobile."

I
felt a stab of panic race through me. I put my elbows on the table and rubbed
the heels of my palms into my eyes. The detective cleared his throat gently and
waited for me to compose myself. "It wasn't Jackson..."

"Beg
your pardon?"

"I
said, it wasn't Jackson." Louder this time.

"Care
to enlighten me?" He leaned back in his chair and had his pen between his
fingers, poised to magically scribble notes onto thin air.

I
sighed and stared at the table between my hands. My wedding ring looked dull under the
fluorescent light. "My husband and I have an... understanding."

He
tossed the pen aside and closed the folder as he moved to stand up. "Mrs
Peterson, there's an arraignment in two hours. You're just one of fifteen DV
cases I have to prep for..."

"We
fuck around, okay?" I looked up at him and held his gaze.

He
cleared his throat again, a little less gently this time. I could see him trying to plug my numbers into
his mental calculator. It took a
while. He finally took a deep breath and
settled back into his chair. "Okay, I'm listening."

"This
goes back maybe two years," I said, and I felt like my mind was racing to
stay a half-step ahead of my mouth. If Jackson was sitting in a cell somewhere
in the precinct, it was because of me, and because he didn't say anything to
out us. God, I loved that man.

"We
were looking to spice up our marriage, you know, get out of our rut?" I
noticed the detective rub his thumb against his left ring finger...if there
ever was a wedding band, it was long gone now.

"We
started out by role-playing, you know, pretending to be single in bars, hit on
each other, that kind of thing..."

"But?"

I
sighed. "But... Jackson wasn't any good at it. He said it made him feel
stupid, and he basically just shut down. After that, we started renting movies,
streaming... you know, porn. We'd get a babysitter for the kids and rent a
hotel room once a month and basically watch people fuck. It was simple stuff at
first-- and most of it was pretty bad. We'd laugh at the shit dialogue or the
way the fake breasts never bounced. Then one night we were frustrated about not
finding anything good, so we just hit something random..."

The
detective looked down at his watch and I felt a swirl of thoughts cyclone
behind my eyes. "The video was of rough sex-- hair pulling, spanking, that
kind of thing. We both just sat there and watched it in silence. When it was
over, we fucked like animals. After a couple of days, we started talking about
it. That was when we realized we both really liked the idea. So the next time
we went out, we gave it a shot. It sparked something in us, and it became a
regular part of our lovemaking."

He
pinched the bridge of his nose. "You just said the marks from the
photographs weren't from Mr. Peterson, and now you're telling me they
are."

"They're
not!" I blushed as I shifted in my seat. "So after a while we started
looking at other things online. We started trolling the subnet, looking for
that same brand of movies, then we slowly drifted into kinkier things than just
a hissed word in bed. Threesomes, anal sex, orgies..."

The
detective's pen was back in his hand and he looked like he was ready to take
down a list of names. "But we never went that route-- well, once, but it
was a coworker of mine, and she lives halfway across the system now. She had a
few drinks one night, and then she and I ended up at my regular hotel. We sent
Jackson pics until he met us there."

I
watched the detective scribble a few lines into my file. Looking back, that really was the start of
it. I'd always wondered what it would be like to be with another woman, or to
know how I would feel if Jackson played with someone else, and I realized it
was just sex. It wasn't any different than watching him jack off in the shower
when he thought I wasn't looking. Bottom line; it didn't change our marriage at
all. If anything, it brought us closer together.

"That
was our turning point, I think.” I said
once his pen stopped moving. “We realized we loved each other, but wanted to
make love to other people, too." I glanced at the empty observation room and
caught my reflection in the glass. I looked so much stronger than I did two
years ago, even haunted with the ghosts of healed bruises.

"Then
we moved out here to the Rim, and we started looking for something new again. I
mean, I guess I've always wanted Jackson to be more aggressive with me. I'd
scratch him whenever he'd pull my hair. I’d bite his shoulder whenever he tried
to put his hand on my throat, I’d bite hard enough to draw blood sometimes. No
matter what, Jackson would never raise his hand to me. It took me a long time
to get that through my head. I felt empty about it at first..."

I
could see the mental handcuffs clicking around my own wrists in the detective's
mind. Like I was some kind of abuser. Hell, maybe he thought we both were.
"My point is, Jackson and I both wanted him to be more aggressive, but he
just couldn't bring himself to do it with me." I smiled at the thought. It
was cute in retrospect. Almost chivalrous. "He said he couldn't hit the
mother of his children..."

"So
he found other women to hit?" The detective turned a page in my folder and
a fresh new set of marks adorned some skin that clearly wasn't mine. I stared
at the lines made by the tails of Jackson's flogger.

I
sighed. "Yes."

The
detective blinked, "wait, you knew?"

My
shoulder's stiffened. "Rene’s been part of our life for about a year now.
They met through a social function, started flirting casually, then fell into
their own natural rhythm..."

Detective
Fields bristled, "okay, I'm having a hard time believing you were just
suddenly okay with your husband preying on other women."

"Who
said I was okay with it?" I stared at the photographs and felt a pang of
jealousy. No, not jealousy – envy. It took me a while to bridge that in my
mind, but I eventually did. "I still want Jackson to make me feel like I
do with--" I suddenly clenched my teeth.

"With
who?" The detective said, leaning forward. "The man who did this to
you?" He shufled back to the pictures of me in his file.

I
had my own copy of all those pictures in my phone too, but it was so surreal to
see them outside my world of immediate control. It left my head feeling dizzy.
"Yes."

It
started innocently enough-- in anger. "One night we were in a hotel room
on Barris for a string of business meetings. I went along to play hostess, and
well, the alcohol flowed, and Jackson started flirting with some blonde who
lingered after her colleagues left. Sir stayed late, too..."

"'Sir?'"

I
blinked and looked at the detective, really looked at him this time: mid-forties,
divorced, alimony, and syndicated streaming television shows. Worse? He was
happy about it. He was happy not knowing about the myriad other levels of social
strata that existed. The fucking ecstasy I've tasted, the sting, the bruises,
the scar on the back of my thigh...

"That's
his name. The one who did that." I said and nodded at the detective's
file. "Obviously, he has a real name, it just doesn’t apply to me. Jackson
has his own little world to play in, and I have mine. They only intersect when
we're alone. Together. So, when the
blonde left that night, Sir laid me down on the bed while Jackson watched. We
didn't have sex, but I wanted to... He held open my thighs and I came for him--
well, both of them..."

The
detective cleared his throat and drained his mug. "We built up from there.
It took months of generating the trust I needed to be where we are now. It
wasn't easy to rationalize how I could submit to him without hurting Jackson, but
I found I could hand off my guilt by giving Jackson got a green-light from me
to do whatever he wanted with Jocelyn."

We
watch the kids on alternating nights out, each of us covering for one another.
Jackson would come home with a sore hand, emotionally drained, or he'd have
rope burns from where Rene slipped in the harness. I'd come home with deeper
bruises than we planned for, ones that spider-webbed out from the globe of my
ass because I didn't want Him to stop. "I told my Aunt once that I slipped
getting out of the pool at the gym..."

"And
Mr. Peterson is okay with all that? Because I sure as hell wouldn't be...”

"No,
you wouldn't. Because you don't get it. And you won't. Two days ago, I went out
and met Sir at a hotel out past Tiberon. I wore the red dress Jackson bought
me. I wore the sexiest clothes I own, because we knew I wouldn't be wearing
them for long. Do you get that?"

Jackson
told me he had a surprise for our anniversary. We went shopping and he bought me
everything I'd need-- dress, bra, panties, garters... The whole time we were in
the store, he had his damn phone in his hands, texting. I thought it was with
Joss, because he had that fucking smirk he always does when he chats with her.
It wasn't, though. It was Sir. They’d arranged the hotel, the room number, the
logistics of balancing work and families-- all for me. While I was standing
right next to him, oblivious.

"I
kissed my kids goodnight and smiled like a damn schoolgirl walking into the
lobby. Jackson took the kids out for ice cream before heading home. I knew in
my heart they were happy, and cared for. The whole night ahead of me was mine
to have, or give, as I saw fit. I wasn’t
a Mom, or a wife, or a daughter or a sister...I was free."

I
wanted to give everything I had. I’d fantasized about being forced to the
floor, not with a heavy hand or a slap across the face, but with an insistent
hand that pushed against the top of my head. I wanted to kneel with my face
against his thigh and just know his cock was hard. I wanted to swallow him. I
wanted to feel him drip into me.

I
felt drunk as I walked down the hallway to the room. The room key and a box of
condoms were all I had in my clutch, and even then, my finger fumbled when I
reached the door. I wanted to feel his hand cover my mouth again, pinch shut my
nose. I wanted to stare into the abyss of his eyes until my ears roared with
static. I wanted it so bad I’d already soaked through my panties before the key
even hit the lock.

"And
I gave myself to my Sir," I said and flexed my ass against the chair. I
winced despite myself. "Jackson calls me his little pain slut, Detective.
Do you know what that means?"

"Why
don't you tell me anyway."

When
we fuck, at home in the dark after the kids are asleep, Jackson likes to tease
me. We both like it. He presses his fingers into my bruises, and I cringe while
I ride his cock. I complain about how bad it hurts, and then pull his hand
against my skin even harder.

"It
means when I come home from a play session with Sir, I tell Jackson every
detail. He licks my wounds-- sometimes literally. I share the details, because
it makes us whole. It's the one element we can't have together, and I bring
that back home to him. I love the pain. It
pushes through my defenses, and I crave more the moment it's gone. Jackson does
the same thing when he comes home from his nights with Rene. I almost have to
beg him for details, because he teases it out, sometimes for days. In the end,
I always get to hear everything that happens. Jackson gets off on it, and so do
I."

"You're
getting off track--"

"No,
I'm not, that's the point! Can't you see? It's all tied together, full circle!
No one's being abused, except maybe the housekeeper at the hotel. The way I cum
all over the sheets might be illegal, but that's it…!"

"This
isn't just a slap on the ass, Mrs. Peterson!" the detective said jamming
his finger onto the picture of Rene’s bruises.

"No,
it isn't. She would have cried and literally begged for more if Jackson stopped
at a slap on her ass. She would have
thought she’d done something to make him angry—she’d wonder why he was
punishing her..." I leaned back in the chair the moment I realized it was
useless. Fields wasn't going to listen.

"When
I walked into the hotel room, Sir was sitting on the edge of the bed. I closed
the door behind me and locked it. I pushed the deadbolt and waited. It must have
been ten minutes before he ordered me to turn around, slowly so he could get a
good long look at me."

It
felt like an eternity, too. Wetness leaked
down the insides of my thighs in a thin sheen. He told me to hang up my coat,
and that’s when I saw his rope hanging in the closet. My knees almost buckled
as I put the coat on a hanger.

"When
he told me to come to him, I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled across
the floor like we’d practiced. Once I was close enough, I stripped out of my
dress. I left my stockings and garter on, but only because he told me to. I
knelt down again, staring at the fucking floor, and I can't remember being more
aroused in my life."

Whenever
He shifted to take a sip of his bourbon, I’d start to move. I could just make
out the outline of his cock, barely visible through his slacks. I wanted to
wrap my lips around him so badly. He pressed his hand gently on the top of my
head, though, and pushed me back toward the floor. He was in control, and He
had all the time in the world to do whatever He wanted, at His own pace.

"...nothing
outside that room existed, and it felt so good to not have the weight of real life
on my shoulders for a few precious hours..."

Jackson
teased me for a week that he wanted to fuck my ass for his anniversary present.
He bought me the condoms, picked out the lubricant, teased me with his fingers,
even the head of his cock, making me beg for it over and over, but he kept
saying he was saving my ass for our anniversary... and now it belonged to Sir.
His for the taking – but only if He wanted to. That was the most intense thing:
I never knew what would come next.

"His
hand found my throat, and he cupped the front of it..." I said and put my
hand up to show him. "The vee of his palm fits me perfectly. I could lean
back if I needed to, but I didn't. I won't."

His
fingers slipped into me and dragged the wetness up over my clit. I mewled like some
kind of wounded animal as I pressed against his thigh. I wanted him to fuck me.
I wanted it more than anything in my god-damned life. I wanted Him to use
everything my body could provide, just so He’s feel satisfied, and He knew
it... He felt my willingness on his fingertips.

"I
literally felt myself drip onto the carpet when he asked me who I belonged to. My
nipples were so fucking hard. It took me
three tries to choke the answer out around His fingers, but when I did, He
smiled. God, His eyes are like pools of onyx when He's happy..."

The
detective leaned back and rolled his eyes. "And next you're going to tell
me he walks on water."

I
smiled. "Don't know, I've never seen him near a lake." I leaned
forward and waited until the detective made eye contact again. "He had me get
up on the edge of the bed, bent me over so I was on my hands and knees, and He
started to slap my ass with his hand. My Sir started slowly-- not too hard, not
too soft. Once I started swaying my hips to meet him, He took a step back and
put his full weight into it. With each slap, I felt His ring, a fraction of an
inch deeper than the rest of His fingers. That same ring cut me a few months
ago. I still have the scar on my thigh..."

The
bruises from that night lasted until my anniversary. I watched the color shift
slowly from red to purple to green and then finally lighten until they were gone.
The marks were badges of honor. They slowly faded away, like soldiers returning
home after a war. I was so proud of them when they arrived, and then sad they left
again.

"I
felt the blood rush to my ears, and my vision blurred. He stopped long enough
to get the switch Jackson made for him. God only knows when they met to
exchange the keys, or the tools, or any of it. The rod was Lacquered rosewood.
Quarter inch. Sir always tells me what He uses..."

Sometimes,
He hissed it into my ears; other times, it was dangled like a carrot in front
of my nose. More than once, He made me fetch it from my closet at home and
bring it to him between my teeth like a dog. God, the number of times I soaked
my own bed for Him while the kids were at school, while Jackson was at work,
when Sir had the spare time to kill.

"And
then he was at my throat again, holding me up while he caned me. He pushed me
right to the edge of my limits and held me there. I floated in this kind of exstacy."

I've
never been quiet when I orgasm, and that night wasn't any different. I used my
fingers to bring myself off. He pulled the cheeks of my ass apart and gently
blew against me while my fingers pumped in and out of me like a steam engine. I
wanted to come so fucking badly. I got right to the edge, and I hesitated. I
didn't stop, and I never slowed down, but something in the back of my mind held
me right on the edge...until he told me to come. That last resilience
shattered, and I flooded the bed. My hand was soaked; my thighs dripped.

"I
felt him press against my arm, and his cock throbbed. I wanted to turn my head
and taste him so badly--"

"Okay,
that's enough!" the detective said, bolting to his feet so hard it sent
the chair shooting back and clanging on the rails. "I don't know what's worse:
the fact that you're fucked up in the head, or that you know it and seem to get
off on it." He shut his folder and tucked his pen back into his disheveled
coat. "You want to be into some kind of degraded kink bullshit, fine, go
fetch your fucking husband and get the fuck out of here." He turned for
the door and whipped back around and pointed his finger at me. "But let me
tell you this, Mrs Peterson, don't you dare come back here in a week crying
about how you were beaten in a way you don't like. A thousand women a day get the shit knocked
out of them because their boyfriend didn’t like the way she looked at him or
lost a tooth because she didn’t have dinner on the table at five on the dot. I
deal with husbands who think a wedding band means they can rape their wives
every night. I lock those fucks away for
as long as humanly possible because they’re a god-damned plague.”

He
looked down at the folder in his hands, then dropped it on the table in front
of me. “So I’m done with you. You’re on your own.” He headed for the door again and stopped at
the threshold. “Don’t come to me looking for protection, not after today. I
don’t have the time.”

He
left like a hurricane, his plain mug abandoned on the table in front of me. I
tucked the photos back into the folder and powered on my phone. While I waited,
I ran my hands up and down my inner thighs and felt the sting of my fresh
bruises. That’s when I saw a long thin scratch on the inside of my forearm. It
was from the pinwheel He’d used on me while I was kneeling in the closet. I
grinned like a schoolgirl, and I couldn't wait to show it to Jackson.

Monday, October 16, 2017

‘Remember
that concert we went to?’ The text came across the monitor while I
added a stop to the grocery store to my navigation computer. I
re-prioritized the list and deleted the gym. I hit the startup key
and sat back while the car queued for a break in traffic.

‘I
remember the parking lot was a freaking zoo.’ I glanced up at the
trail of tail lights above me. I’d followed this same routine for
more than a year, but the streaks of red against the constellations
was still breathtaking.

‘I
meant between sets when the lights went out...'

It
took a few seconds for the dots to connect, but then a dam of
recollection burst. My reflection in the glass grinned. 'Yeah, I
remember! That was a great show. You were pretty great company,
too, if memory serves...'

'Good
show, good company, and if it hadn't been such a long damn week at
work, who knows, it could have been another first once you drove me
home—but you were always such a gentleman!'

The
grin on my face lingered while the engine revved and softly lifted me
out of the parking lot. 'Yeah, well, I wasn't exactly ready to make
a pass at you back then. Now would be a whole different night, don't
you think...?'

Some
friendships survived the move. Not a lot, but for the ones that did,
the distance and time became meaningless. These weren’t the casual
friends variety of ‘people I knew’, or ‘the people I worked
with’, and the ‘people that showed up to the same kid-centered
activities-- those were just people. Good people, but they weren’t
friends. Friends are more than that. They sneak up on you sometimes,
too. They hit you out of left field, and suddenly its like they were
always there, always a part of your life. Something about them digs
in deep, they manage to break through the veneer and graft onto you.
They create a space for themselves in your life, you trade with them
their absolute best, or worst—you build up a blanket acceptance at
an intrinsic level.

The
car banked a little to make the climb towards the expressway. The
buildings slowly changed from steel and glass monoliths into
glittering towers that rose from the surface. As I leveled out and
started to pick up speed, I watched this skyway banner that glowed
the most obscene rainbow colors rise into view. It marked the start
of the express lanes and the colors shifted throughout the week and
bled through the spectrum: the crisp red on Monday morning turned
pale orange by Tuesday. My car was starting to fill with the crisp
purple light that marked the beginning of the weekend as the car
changed lanes and circled the outer loop. There was a massive
billboard right before the high-speed grav fields launched everyone
into sub-orbit. The message blazoned across it in obscenely large
letters was always the same, ‘Friends Are Forever.’ I think they
were selling long-distance phone service, but it could just as easily
been for breakfast cereal. At any rate, in addition to making me
want to call my mom while eat a bowl of Lucky Charms, the billboard’s
bonus effect was leaving me a touch sentimental. I snapped a quick
pic of it and sent it to Joss before the car could give me whiplash.

'You
are such a girl sometimes...'

'Who
says I’m not just looking for soft spots where I can exploit you!'

'Ooh,
by all means, exploit me... vigorously!'

My
wife and I had known Josslin and Trent for about ten years. Our wives
met a ‘spiritual retreat’ that I suspected was secret woman-code
for ‘leave your husbands/ boyfriends at home and run away for the
weekend.’ The event schedule looked legitimate enough: a host of
different presenters offered workshops and empowerment classes
morning, noon, and night. From the stories Dinah told me, everything
was ‘amazing’, ‘so uplifting’, and sprinkled with mix of
alcohol and armchair astrology. She and Josslin became instant
friends that weekend-- laughing, sharing their innermost feelings.
Before I’d even met Joss, Dinah’d already traded birthing stories
and hung out so often together they’d started cycling at the same
time of the month.

I
finally met Trent a few weeks later at a barbecue where we felt
equally forced at gunpoint to attend. Over a pitcher of margaritas,
we started off by confessing how absurdly fast our wives became neigh
inseparable. We branched out from there, slowly wading into the sea
of husbandry awkwardness. From those humble beginnings, we slowly
started hanging out more and more often. Eventually, we poured our
hearts and souls out like shots of tequila.

It
was about two years in when I got the bright idea that Dinah and I
needed move to the other side of the system. Work had slowed down,
the economy on Pax was on the edge of collapse… Everything happened
so fast-- our whole lives changed in a single season. Dinah and Joss
felt it the most. They managed to make the most of the time they had
left-- girls nights out, movies, parties, family dinners together...
They always flirted, right from the beginning-- but moving away added
a whole other level of urgency. The constant sexual tension between
them turned into a kind of desperate longing. Whenever Trent and I
would call them out on it they’d play it off on alcohol, or 'just
something we do to tease you guys,' but I knew my Dinah better than
that. Our wives had such a deep crush on each other that when we
finally moved, watching them say goodbye was excruciating.

When
we sold the house and nailed down our nebulous moving date, it was
the final push that finally got our wives away from the giggling fits
and teasing innuendos and into a full-blown sexual relationship. We
went from ‘when we sell the house’ to ‘holy shit, the dominoes
are starting to fall!’ almost overnight. Every night out turned
into ‘what if this is our last time...’ and they did a pretty
good job of trying to make the most of every minute. I never asked
what Trent thought about any of it, but I certainly enjoyed the
fully-detailed, vivid descriptions of every touch between Dinah and
Joss. Every giggle Dinah heard, the sights, the sounds, the feelings
they shared. They’ve both teased me for years. They played to my
voyeuristic tendencies and told me how Joss slowly spread her legs
for Dinah’s fingers. They’d make sly comments about how she
writhed on the edge of my wife’s tongue. The idea of it still gets
me hot, and Dinah's teased me to countless orgasms with stories about
Joss's nipples.

'You're
asking for trouble, you know that, right?' I text, then grinned
again when I felt my cock stir in my jeans. The cars around me were
shuffling into position for the crosstown express. I felt the burst
of acceleration push me back in my seat.

“Oh,
I'm not asking, I'm begging... pleeeease?'

Joss
followed up her text with a selfie. She was sitting behind the wheel
of her car, a red tint splashed across her face from the taillights
of the cars in front of her. Her bottom lip was pushed out, but her
eyes were layered with wicked intentions.

I
felt a stab of lust, and suddenly the light-years between us open
like a bottomless void. It wasn't until after we were settled-in on
Cirrus that Joss told me how big of a crush she'd had on me, too.
That revelation floored me. Sure, we’d all flirted a lot,
especially when the drinks were flowing, but there was never any
thought that anything would blossom between Joss and I. She and Dinah
only seemed to have eyes for each other.

'Are
you going to teach me a lesson?' Joss text.

I
felt my cock twitch again. If I wasn't planning to stop at the
store, I would have tinted the windows and recorded myself
masturbating just to tease her. 'No! You'd like it too much!'

We
used to text once or twice a month just to catch up on the usual
stuff—family, kids, schools-- and then one day while she was stuck
in traffic, everything changed. We got to talking about regrets. It
started innocently enough—wishing for one last trip to the zoo with
the families, one last barbecue… Then Joss said she regretted not
getting the chance to do more together when we lived closer. At first
I thought she meant more of the same casual family-related
activities, so I told her I felt the same way. That’s when I popped
off something offhand about how good she always looked. Next thing I
knew Joss was sending me selfies. They started off pretty tame,
always from the front seat of her car, and then her shirt slowly
started losing buttons, or the collar would be pulled down to show
off the line of deep cleavage she was so known for around the
backyard campfires. I told her if she kept teasing me, I would have
to retaliate in kind… She never flinched, and it turned into a
regular flirt-fest, complete with full-color stills and the
occasional video.

I
let Joss lead. The more I lusted after her, the bolder she started to
become. She went from teasing me with shots of her cleavage, to
sending me glimpses of her bra with her nipples showing through. As
it escalated, Joss started to share more and more of herself to me at
red lights. Next thing I knew she'd sent me an audio recording of
her masturbating in a parking lot. Not to be outdone, I sent her a
recording of me jerking off from a bathroom stall at work. Joss
followed up by sending me a close-up video of her fingers pulling the
moisture between her lips up and over her delicious-looking clit. I
retaliated with a video of me slowly stroking my cock, making sure
she could hear her own recording playing in the background.
Everything went from warm to nuclear so rapidly that I was hard most
days walking in the front door after work. Naturally, Dinah liked the
extra attention I heaped on her, and she contributed to our little
game from time to time by adding her own photos and videos to the
mix.

It
wasn’t until Dinah and I confessed to Joss and Trent about our more
recently uncovered, darker fetishes, that things got really hot
between all four of us. It turned out that Dinah loved pain. Not
enough to cause any lasting harm, but she absolutely wanted more than
just a light pinch of her nipples. The sting of a paddle on the
inside of her thigh, spanking her ass with my palm until it was red
and tender: those sensations were like rocket fuel to her. Having my
hand around her throat made Dinah’s orgasms longer, the throbbing
pulse of her body more intense-- it opened up a whole new world for
us.

We
started to experiment like newlyweds all over again. We found some
completely hidden facets about our sexuality and desires that we
never knew existed. Dinah and I were both a little nervous about how
Joss and Trent would react when we told them, but when we did they
weren’t just accepting, they wanted to follow us down the rabbit
hole.

'I'm
wearing the nipple clamps you sent me...' She text, then followed it
up with a photo of her crisp blouse pulled tight across her chest. I
could see the hardened tips and the outline of the clovers.

My
mouth went dry and I had a hundred images of her putting them on
while she was stopped at a traffic light, or in the parking lot
before she left, then buttoning up her shirt again before casually
heading home. 'Fucking hell, you know I'm stopping at the store,
right?'

I
adjusted my cock so the precum wouldn’t soak through the front of
my slacks. 'If everything goes according to plan, you might get
lucky too!'

Joss
sent us a video from her bedroom once. God I fucking loved it-- she
was on her hands and knees while Trent knelt behind her. She had the
camera in front of her and she kept whispering how good Trent's
tongue felt licking her clit. She told him—us, how amazing the
jeweled plug Dinah sent felt filling her ass. Trent slowly added his
fingers to her pussy: two, then three, then all four. Joss had this
glazed look in her eyes while she rocked back and forth against his
hand. I watched her nipples sway under her and when Joss came, her
eyes squeezed shut and she moaned so fucking deeply. I've cum so many
times watching that video and my cock still stirs whenever I hear her
opening moan like, my body reacting like a Pavlovian dog.

'Ooh!
Are you guys going to record something for us?'

'Maybe,
if you're a good girl...'

Our
friendship morphed from traditional into something else when we moved
away. We were more than friends now, but it wasn’t all just sexual
hype, either. I learned so many new things about each of us, things
we wouldn’t have opened up with if we stayed closer together. The
more I shared with Dinah about what I learned by texting with Joss,
the more Dinah opened up to me about herself. Those revelations in
turn led me to learn more about myself and the cycle would repeat.

'And
what if I don't want to be a good girl? What if I want to be
bad...?' Joss liked to toy with submissiveness, and she’d been
growing bolder about it over the last few weeks. I was starting to
like being dominant with her. Dinah thought Joss’ reluctance was
all for show, and what she really wanted was a full knock-down
drag-out kind of Master/slave play session. I wasn’t so sure, but
thanks to Dinah I had my eyes open--ready for any hints that might
crop up.

'Bad
girls don't get to watch. I'll record us with the lights off...' I
reached for my coffee mug and took a sip. I saw her text bubbles
start, stop, then start again. She was either trying to come up with
a clever response, or taking pictures. I felt the car downshift on
its was to the off ramp. I darkened the windows a little just in
case she decided to photo bomb me at a red light.

It's
amazing how one little text can change your life. 'Oh I'm getting an
eye full, one way or another-- we're coming out to see you guys next
month!'

I
almost choked on my coffee. 'Are you serious? Don't you dare tease me
about something like that!'

She
sent me a pic of her plane ticket laying on top of her nipples. 'Are
you going to be able to pick me up from the airport?'

'Wait,
just you?'

'Oh
no, I just thought Dinah could pick up Trent. I want to give you head
while you drive.'

My
pulse started racing. 'You know, you should be careful what you ask
for.'

'You
think I can't handle it?'

'That's
not what I meant...'

'Then
don't tell me what you want me to do, Sir. Show me...'

She
sent me another picture, a close up of her face. Joss was bent over
Trent's lap and I imagined him throbbing in her mouth. Her eyes were
closed, her lips stretched tight around his shaft. She looked like
she was swallowing him--I fucking hoped she was swallowing him.

'Does
Dinah already know?'

'Of
course, I can't trust you to organize these kinds of things. You
should be at the store by now, so I'm going to sign off. I'm looking
forward to my recording later...'

The
days raced past. My phone was blew up with pictures, we traded
fantasies, Joss even played with herself every day on her way home
from work all week. She called me on Thursday so I could just listen
to her. Her breathing started soft and even, but as the sound of her
fingers dipping into her wetness got louder, it turned ragged. She
started to pant, moaning softly, then louder. Joss started teasing
me, telling me how badly she wanted my cock inside her. I heard her
fingers plunging into herself hard and fast while she talked about
Dinah's toys, wanting my wife to fuck her senseless, wanting both of
us to fuck Joss at the same time until she couldn’t remember her
own name, let alone walk afterwards. I was touching my cock through
my jeans, squeezing it to stop the inevitable but before I know
could, I came with a burst of heat and wetness that soaked my thigh
and made the rest of my drive home a sticky fucking mess. When I told
her about it, Joss screamed and I heard her drop the phone. She told
me afterward that she ended up having to pull over while her orgasm
ripped through her body.

While
we were making dinner that night, I told Dinah all about it hushed
whispers. She kept flashing me this coy little smile that instantly
made me suspicious. “...If this keeps up, I'm going to have to
start keeping a gym bag in the car with a towel and spare pair of
pants!”

"You
know, that's not a half-bad idea. And some of those baby wipes…
Know what else Joss told me today?"

I
glanced around to make sure we were still being properly ignored by
our kids. One was brain-deep in his computer game upstairs, and the
other was on her phone, talking teenager politics with her friend
from school. The living room couch wasn’t exactly miles away, but
it was enough of a buffer that we weren’t in danger of being
overheard. "I'm all ears."

Dinah
grinned, "She said Trent wants to sub for me."

"Oh,
really...?" I watched Dinah bite her bottom lip. Joss had been
hinting to me for months that Trent was showing some signs of wanting
to be submissive, but Joss wasn't sure she could deal with it, or
how.

"No,
I mean like really submit. Ride his face while his hands are bound,
blindfold him, maybe use the nipple clamps and our flogger on him."

"And
you said...?"

"I
didn't say anything! God, the idea turns me on, but I don't know if
I can!" she whispered. I set aside the salad I was chopping and
stepped up behind her. I slipped an arm around her waist and let my
other hand reach down over the front of her jeans. I felt her heat
and heard a faint moan before she stiffened up and glanced in the
general direction of the rest of the house. "Dammit, you have to
stop!"

"I
think you can do it. I think you'll enjoy it, too." I put my
hands on her hips and pressed my face against her neck so I could
whisper, "Know what else will be fun? You riding his face while
you're fingering Joss."

Dinah
groaned and then nudged me out of the way so she could reach the
dinner plates. "God, I want to so bad."

I
pulled silverware from the drawer next to her and glanced towards the
couch. The children stirring, but I still had a minute. "Oh I
know you do. And think, you're going to have every chance to make
them do whatever you want.” I leaned in closer to her and ran a
butter knife down the side of her neck, lightly at first but I
pressed harder so she could feel it through her bra when I circled
her hard nipple, “they'll do everything you say without a second's
hesitation, and I'm willing to bet they'll beg you for more."

"You're
bad."

"Thank
you. I try."

The
last two days before their arrival was a blur of housekeeping and
chitchat that wasn't even remotely sexual. I think we'd all reached a
saturation point where there was nothing left to say. I think words
would have just dulled our senses. We drove separate cars out to the
terminal hub since our kids were each attending a sleepover on
opposite ends of town. Normally, Dinah and I would have just made a
loop, but it gave us a convenient excuse to get Joss and Trent alone
on the ride home. The moment we met them at the arrival gate, I could
tell things weren’t going to go exactly as planned.

The
moment they met at the terminal, it was painfully obvious that any
plans I entertained ending with me ravishing Joss on the way home
were shot. Dinah wrapped her into a bear hug that they melted
together. They both cried, almost sobbing before they just flipped
and started to laugh. They left Trent and I standing next to the
baggage terminal and found a row of benches along the back wall. Once
the bags were safely stowed in our respective cars, Dinah pulled me
aside so she could kiss me. She also confessed that Joss was worried
about how nervous Trent seemed. I smiled at her and kissed the top
of her head. Dinah and Jess really were the core of our little
quartet. They shared absolutely everything and they weren’t shy
about speaking up. Dinah ran her hands down the front of my pants and
gently squeezed my cock. She kissed me again, then told me they
hoped I’d agree to drive Trent home. They thought I might get him
to relax a little before anything heated up and became awkward later.

The
moment I started the car, Trent started to chatter. Constantly. His
train of thought was on a high speed loop, rattling off anything and
everything that coursed through his mind. It was like his filters
had eroded. Joss and Dinah hugged so tightly before they climbed
into Dinah’s car I thought they were going to need a pry bar to get
them apart again. They both had tears in their eyes again. I
remembered that stupid rainbow from the billboard and I smiled
despite how cliché I felt. I set the course into the auto-nav so we
could both just sit back and enjoy the ride.

“I
am so freaking Jealous! We don't have the infrastructure yet to use
the auto-nav out by us.” Trent looked at the layers of highway near
the terminal. The ballet of headlights moving in almost a perfect
orb that intersected at the core.

I
nodded, but my thoughts wandered. I kept thinking about Dinah and
Joss. I’d lost sight of Dina’s car the moment we locked in our
merge pattern so they could have been anywhere by now. There was no
way they’d make it all the way home without letting their years of
pent up longing explode. I think Trent sensed it too; he started
talking about the all the innovations his route to work needed before
multidimensional highways were ever going to be a reality for him.
The more he talked about it, the more my thoughts wound back to all
the times I’ve text Joss while she drove home. I saw flashes in my
mind of all the selfies she snapped with her fingers buried beneath
her panties, or her nipples exposed at a stoplight. I cleared my
throat, “yeah, it certainly makes the commute a lot more
productive.”

“Do
you know if they're using an integrated gravity-well system or a
linear topology?” Trent's eyes were wide open and straining
against the darkness at the core of the terminal.

“Honestly,
I haven't a clue. I get in, I push the buttons, and zone out,” I
grinned.

Trent
shrugged, “I get that.” He always had an air of schoolboy
curiosity, but without his usual filters in place, he positively
dripped with it.

By
the time we got to the house, Trent began to slow down enough for me
to get a few words in, and once the car stopped in the driveway, he
was back to his usual self and we were trading work stories and
taking shots at the political hierarchies we’d elected. Dinah and
Joss weren't home yet, but we weren’t surprised either. We both
laughed when we caught each other checking our phones for the
inevitable texts we’d grown accustomed to. I helped him haul in the
luggage and gave him the grand tour. We ended up with us in the
kitchen where I poured us both a tall glass of rum. We talked about
our kids; how his were probably losing their minds on chocolate
cookies at Trent's sister's house, and how mine were probably being
moody teenagers forced to play board games with their grandmother,
all the while pretending they weren't enjoying every minute of it.

Our
phones both lit up at the same time, and the same schoolboy grins
spread across our faces as a selfie from Dinah filled our screens.
Her fingers were pressed deep between Joss' lips. Joss’ panties
were pulled aside, and I could see a glossy sheen of wetness on her
skin. The way it coated Dinah's fingers made it look like it wasn't
her first orgasm of the night. Even the front seat of the car looked
like it was splashed. Trent and I glanced up at each other just as a
second pic came in. This time we saw Joss' face pressed against
Dinah's inner thigh. Joss’ eyes were closed, just like in the pic
she'd sent me of her swallowing Trent's cock. It was almost angelic,
except for Joss' tongue, reaching out for Dinah's swollen clit. My
cock reacted instantly.

Trent
looked at me, and I heard a bit of his nervousness creeping back into
his voice, “What do you have in mind?”

I
grinned, it was almost like he was afraid I was going to lean across
the counter and kiss him, who knows, maybe he was afraid I wouldn’t.
Dinah had been giving me a highlight reel of her texts with him, but
most of it just centered on him being tied up and used. I just
shrugged and carried my drink back up to my office across the hall
from the guest room. Trent followed me, grabbing the bottle and
pouring another round while he walked. Tucked in the back corner of
my office was an upright steamer trunk I’d found at an estate sale.
Trent's grin widened the moment he saw it. "Is that what I think
it is? How the hell did I miss that on the tour?"

"Yup.
That's exactly what you think it is." I kept the key in the
bottom drawer of my desk and I told Trent he should text a few
pictures of the steamer to Joss and Dinah while I unlocked it. Trent
drained his glass and set the bottle aside while he did the honors. I
heard him snap a few quick shots, and when the hinges creaked open,
he took a deep breath as the smell of leather and silicone filled the
room. I felt my cock stir again and stepped back so he could get a
clear pic. "Feel free to have a look around..."

He
came in closer, snapped a few pics of the inside, then started
sending them out as out texts. He waited for them to process, then
set his phone down so he could leaf through the trunk. Right on top
of the drawers was Dianah's strap-on. I saw his fingers tremble a
tiny bit as he reached out to touch it. Under the top tray was a
collection of straps and harnesses, cuffs, paddles, more toys,
chargers, batteries. Under that was Dinah's lingerie. He whispered a
soft "damn." as he felt the sheer panels of her bras.

"Want
to really twist Dinah's gears?" I reached around him and pulled
a pair of leather wrist cuffs from the pile. The chain clinked
softly. His eyes lingered on it for a second and I saw him swallow. I
wondered, just for an instant, how his throat would feel wrapped
around my cock. Dinah teased me once about it, weeks ago, asking what
I would do if she wanted to make him suck my cock. I never got the
chance to answer her because she started furiously sucking my cock
and I just lost it and came down her throat. Trent grinned, then held
out his wrists for me.

I
wish I could have seen the look on our wives faces when they got the
picture of Trent. I talked him out of his shirt, then had him kneel
in front of the trunk. He pressed his face against Dinah's strap-on,
closed his eyes, and then I clasped the leather cuffs behind his
back. I imagined they both just about died.

It
wasn’t even ten minutes later when I heard them come through the
garage door. They stopped off in the kitchen to make themselves a
drink, then came straight up to the office. I took a steady stream of
pictures of Trent the whole time, posing him over and over. He was
holding the strap-on gently between his teeth when Dinah sidled up
behind me and leaned on my shoulder. "Thanks for warming him up
for me,” she cooed “Joss is ready for you." Dinah touched my
lips, and when I opened my mouth, I could taste what was left of
Joss. I moaned and let out a deep sigh.

When
I turned around, Joss was leaning against the door. Her hair was a
mess, and it wasn’t hard to imagine how she must have been sprawled
out across the backseat of Dinah's car. Her shirt looked wrinkled
from where it was bunched up under her chin. I didn't say a word as I
crossed the room, then swept her out into the hall. I pinned her to
the door of the guest bedroom just as a muffled groan escaped Trent
from the office. Joss' eyes were glued to the scene unfolding over my
shoulder as I bit the side of her neck. She got this dreamy look on
her face as Dinah seized control of her husband.

Joss
grabbed pulled me into her by the back of my neck, and when she bent
her head to kiss me, I almost snapped: I can't even begin to describe
the intensity of that first kiss. It was like a blowtorch hit
gasoline, lust fused and fury ignited inside me. I grabbed her head,
pulled her head back by a fistful of hair bit at her neck again. I
forced my knee up between her legs. I felt her heat, then the
scorching moisture as she began to seep into my skin. Joss was a
molten furnace, churning up so many years of suppressed hunger. I
tore at her clothes, her shirt yielded first and the top two buttons
bounced off the wall-- her red lace bra barely contained her breasts.
Her nipples stood out, desperate for attention. My hand mauled her
chest, kneading her skin, teasing and pinching, only to kiss and lick
at her, soaking her bra with my tongue. The moment she sighed, I
reached up under her chin and tightened my fingers around her throat.
The instant she felt my hand press her flat against the door, she let
out a ragged "yes, oh fucking god, yes..."

A
wet trail of kisses crossed her chest before I tore her shirt all the
way open open. Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard the fabric
rip. Her right breast hung naked in the air, her nipple defiant and
so fucking delicious. I tasted her, pulled her into my mouth,
squeezed my hand tight around her throat in short bursts while I
gnashed at her.

She
groaned and shuddered at every touch. She gasped sharply and came,
exactly like she did when she climaxed in the video she'd sent us all
those years ago. Her eyes rolled back and I suddenly found myself
struggling to keep her on her feet. She was so fucking beautiful when
I helped guide her fall, dropping down with her until Joss was
staring up at me. She had such a mixture of fear and want all over
her face. I let go of her neck long enough to start clawing at her
jeans, even managing to pull them open without tearing them to
shreds. Joss reached for her zipper, lifting her hips just as I got a
good hold of her. I stripped them off of her hips and left them
knotted at her ankles. Her matching red panties were bunched between
her thighs and I could see her lips glistening.

She
squealed as she kicked her jeans off, then bit her lower lip as her
legs parted for me. I knelt between her spread thighs and dipped my
head to taste her. My cock protested against the front of my jeans,
begging for release, but I'd waited too long to taste Joss. The
moment my tongue licked her folds, she groaned and dug her fingers
into my hair,she pulled me into her as hard and deep as my tongue
could reach. Dinah had already gone down on her once, but I was
hellbent on making her cum again. Joss melted like butter against my
lips, and I couldn’t get enough of her. The more I tasted her, the
more she had to give and I drank everything she had. Fuck, I would
have never come up if Dinah hadn't started making Trent start
groaning again.

Joss
looked over her shoulder and her body tensed as another orgasm ripped
through her. She'd caught sight of the Trent, naked, his face down
on the office floor with his hands and feet bound together. Dinah
stood behind him wearing her black stiletto heels. She had the toe of
her shoe on the tip of his tailbone and we could see her heel slowly
easing in and out of his ass. His cock was hard and throbbing, precum
glistened from the tip and pooled on the floor. She kept barking at
him in a harsh whisper "Yes, that's it, you can take it."

Joss
flexed her hips up at me, clearly ready for more even though she
never took her eyes off them. I eased my finger into her, waited for
her to moan, and then added a second and curled them up to touch her
g-spot. I pressed against it, lifted her up and dropped my head down
against the carpet to tongue her ass. She groaned and I felt her
hands flail at me as she tried to pull me away. When she couldn’t,
Joss pulled at her nipples and slapped her hand against the floor as
she came again.

I
waited for her to catch her breath, then slowly added another finger.
When she started to rock her hips up to meet me, I added the fourth.
I toyed with her, changed the pattern, sliding in deep, then shallow,
fast then slow. It wasn’t long before she writhed under me, and I
felt her building up to another orgasm. Her whole body went rigid,
her thighs suddenly locked together, her breathing stopped and she
screamed like a fucking banshee. She clamped down on my shoulders,
trapping my face against her dripping pussy.

When
her eyes finally opened again, Joss stared at Dinah as she turned
Trent over and brought his throbbing cock into view. It pulsed
against his hip in time to his racing heartbeat. Dinah smiled down at
him and turned so her feet straddled his ears. Trent looked starved
as Dinah slowly knelt over his mouth. She hovered above him, dipping
her hips just low enough that she could coat his face without letting
him really feast on her. She reached back and started slapping his
cock, making his knees jolt.

"You
want to be in there, don't you?" I hissed up at her, then Joss
swallowed hard and nodded without taking her eyes off of them. I
started pumping her harder with my fingers. "Then you'd better
ask me nicely."

"Please,
Sir?"

I
felt another gush of wetness splash against my wrist and drip down my
forearm. I kept pumping her with my fingers, turning my hand so my
thumb was brushing the opening of her ass. I lashed at her clit with
my tongue. "You'd better be more specific."

"Oh
God, please, Sir, can I go in there?"

I
sucked her clit and flicked her back and forth with the tip of my
tongue, making her mewl like a wounded animal. "Why? Why do you
want to be in there where your husband is? Is it so my wife can fuck
you, too?"

"Oh
my God, yes, Sir!" Joss had another short orgasm and glanced
down at me, "fuck, please...?"

I
stopped and immediately pulled back. I jumped to my feet and grabbed
her by her hair and practically dragged Joss to her knees so she
could follow me into the office. Dinah smiled at us, but when Trent
tried to turn his head to see what was happening, Dinah ground her
hips down onto his face before she stood up. The look in my wife's
eyes was so wicked as I dragged Joss into the room after me. My cock
felt like it was going to tear through my jeans, right through where
the wet stain of precum lingered.

I
pushed Joss towards Dinah and watched them kiss hungrily. Their
tongues smashed together over Trent. I walked around them slowly,
then lifted the strap-on off he shelf in the trunk and handed it to
Dinah. Trent and I both watched Joss lower herself onto Trent's cock,
then she started riding him hard and fast. She only slowed down
after Dinah pulled Joss’ hair and whispered in her ear. Putting the
harness on was always a slow process, and the way Joss kept slowly
rocking her hips back and forth meant she wasn’t in any hurry to
speed things along.

I
reached over and pinched both of Joss’ nipples at the same time,
pressing just hard enough to make her wince and gasp. I leaned over
and whispered in her ear, "don't you want Dinah to fuck you,
Joss?" I rolled her nipples between my fingers, alternating the
pressure. "I know you want it. You've been dreaming about it for
years now. It's right there, almost in the palm of your hands...
Fuck, don't let him cum yet!"

She
stopped moving, shuddering on top of Trent who kept arching his hips
into her, panting. He was so close to orgasm, gritting his teeth,
straining to cum but Joss forced him to edge away. As sweat broke out
across his face, all eyes fell on Dinah who finished tightening the
straps on her harness. Trent and I watched as Dinah moved closer,
then turned so Joss could kiss the head of the phallus before Dinah
pulled Joss' head back and kissed her deeply. I felt like I was going
to fucking explode as I slowly backed away so I could watch my wife
turn Joss around and force her to her kneel over Trent. Joss followed
Dinah’s lead and bent down to kiss and suckle at the head of her
husband's cock. She stared up at me the whole time. I felt like Joss
wanted me to know how badly she wanted my own cock in her mouth, too.
I reached down and gave my cock a hard squeeze through my jeans. I
wanted to feel her tongue pressing against my shaft so badly.

"I
said move!" Dinah barked, then slapped Joss' ass. The sound was
like a gunshot, but it worked and Joss reluctantly let her husband's
cock slip from between her lips. I watched her inch forward just
enough that her breasts grazed the sides of Trent's glistening cock.
Dinah's knees settled on either side of Trent's face and she pulled
Joss' hips back to meet her. Trent could only stare up at Dinah's
pussy, his tongue just out of reach no matter how much he strained to
taste her. Joss stared at me, her mouth open, and moaned as Dinah's
toy slowly filled her. After her first thrust, I heard the sound I’d
been waiting for-- the wet impact of skin every time their hips met.
Every third or fourth thrust, Dinah dipped down against Trent's face,
but only long enough to make him want more.

Joss'
moans started off softly, but when Trent found her rhythm, he took
full advantage of it and started fucking his hips up against his
wife's tits. Joss moaned again, then moved her arms closer together.
She managed to trap the head of Trent’s cock between her swaying
breasts. That one small gesture was the one extra touch he needed.
Joss started to moan even louder, which made Dinah grin like a
madwoman.

Trent
groaned under them while Dinah stared into my eyes and lowered
herself onto his face. Trent instantly came like a flood between his
wife’s tits. I stepped in close and reached down to touch the side
of Joss’ face. I traced her eyebrows, then down the line of her
jaw and finally touched her lips. They parted for the tip of my thumb
and then she sucked on it gently like the head of a cock. I leaned
in and kissed Dinah before stepping back to finish watching.

Joss
fell forward and dropped onto her elbows, letting her breasts soak up
Trent's cum. Dinah's
smile suddenly
turned
viscous
and she
slipped
into a hard,
steady
rhythm that made
both
women’s
breasts shake with every thrust. Joss
went
into
a frenzy
of moaning squeals as she came over and over, dripping off
the
hard shaft and
splashing
over
Trent’s face.
I watched
all
three of them sway, drip and cum while I felt my cock gently
throb in my jeans. I
refilled my glass and took a long pull: they'd
only just arrived, and we
still had
so much left to explore.